


Now You're Up To Speed...

by Guardian_Rose



Series: A String Of Moments Makes A Life [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'cause you can see it as:, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, I feel like there should be a special tag for these two, M/M, Or you can see it as, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose
Summary: “Oh,” he says instead. He opens his mouth to say something else then thinks twice and just smiles.“‘Oh’?” Crowley repeats, a tad mockingly.Aziraphale nods and holds up the wine. “Will this do?”Crowley’s brow furrows which means he’s glaring even though the sunglasses hide it. “I- Yes, it’ll do. What do you mean just ‘oh’? I spent all morning on this!”***It's picnic time! Don't need to have read the rest of the series for this to make sense!





	Now You're Up To Speed...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassyTheRosePen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassyTheRosePen/gifts).



> "Personally I would love to see that picnic *wink wink* Azi 100% owes it to him."
> 
> Here you go, GlassyTheRosePen! Hope this meets your expectations!

It takes a week for the weather to make itself amiable to their plans. First it rained for days, then they had to wait for the park grass to at least attempt to dry out before they could go for their picnic. It was a week of...well, it was just like any other week, really. Aziraphale did his best to dissuade customers from even looking at his store. When, inevitably, some wandered over the threshold Crowley was there to generally make a nuisance of himself. The angel was quite sure it was so the customers would leave but Crowley, more often than not, would continue to flounce round the store and try to distract Aziraphale from his work even after the customers left. They went out for fancy meals and they stayed in for home-cooked meals. They spent about three evenings of the seven drunk and the rest apart. It’s all very...normal. 

 

Which is a reassurance now, whilst Aziraphale is trying to decide whether it’s okay to wear his normal waistcoat and jacket outfit on this picnic. Crowley always looks stylish. He’s all height and swagger and outright confidence. Aziraphale just isn’t. Quietly confident is more his scene. Soft curves, comfort and a hidden resolve. Like a bitter cocoa. But this isn’t just dinner at the Ritz (which may never have really been  _ just dinner at the Ritz _ when he thinks about it) this is a date in all accounts. This isn’t their usual way of doing things. So does he have to be a bit different too?

 

It’s only the ringing of the phone that snaps him into action. He buttons his waistcoat, Crowley’s never mentioned a hatred of his clothing choices before anyway. Except for the tartan. Which isn’t something Aziraphale is going to back down on. He picks up the phone with a jolly greeting, glancing at the clock too. 

 

“Aziraphale, great,” Crowley says, he sounds his usual snippy self. “Have you looked outside?” 

 

“No? Why?” 

 

A harsh huff of air and Aziraphale tries to wiggle his way through his very crowded study to get to the windows. Crowley sighs again when Aziraphale lets out a mild ‘oops’ as he almost knocks a newly acquired Wilde off a shelf. 

 

“It’s raining, angel. Tipping it down.” 

 

“But--”

 

“Yes! I know!”

 

Aziraphale can hear it now that he knows what to listen for, the gentle but insistent patter on the windows. Of all the days. 

 

“Oh. Well. I guess we’ll have to have another rain check then,” Aziraphale thinks forlornly of the wine he’d gotten for the occasion, the same one they’d ended up not drinking on that almost-disaster of a night a week ago. “Shall we say Wednesday?”

 

“Bollocks to that.” Crowley snaps, prompting an unbidden grin from Aziraphale. “Who says a picnic has to be outside?”

 

“Well--”

 

“Shut up,” Crowley’s sneer is tempered by the subtle affection underneath. “Bring whatever you were going to bring with you, just bring it here instead of the park.”

 

“Surely if we’re not outside then we’re just having dinner?” Aziraphale presses, knowing it’ll make the demon grumble. 

 

“Be here in twenty minutes.”

 

“Make it fifteen.” Then Aziraphale hangs up the phone. 

 

Turns out the wine will be drank after all. 

 

***

 

Of all the things Aziraphale had thought up to expect on his journey over to Crowley’s flat, this had not been one of them. In the room with all Crowley’s plants, standing tall and proud and scared out their wits most of the time, Crowley has laid out their picnic blanket on the floor. On it is an open basket, a couple of plates, a couple of wine glasses (because if there is one thing they knew better than their own selves, it is each other) and an array of snack foods. Little savoury bites, little triangle sandwiches and, of course, little desserts. There’s music playing from somewhere. And to top it all off, Crowley’s lounging in front of the window, arms crossed, sunglasses on, wickedly pleased with himself. Aziraphale is holding the wine by the neck of the bottle otherwise he would’ve given in to the sudden wave of temptation to go and hug the demon. 

 

“ _ Oh,”  _ he says instead. He opens his mouth to say something else then thinks twice and just smiles. 

 

“‘Oh’?” Crowley repeats, a tad mockingly. 

 

Aziraphale nods and holds up the wine. “Will this do?”

 

Crowley’s brow furrows which means he’s glaring even though the sunglasses hide it. “I- Yes, it’ll do. What do you mean just ‘oh’? I spent all morning on this!”

 

“All morning?” Aziraphale puts the wine down as he sits on one corner of the blanket, it’s warmer on the floor than he expected. “So you didn’t just do a little demonic miracle, you made all this?”

 

Crowley’s face shifts again, head tilting up and to the side to avoid Aziraphale’s gaze, he shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, I set it all out.”

 

“Well then, I owe you my thanks, my dear. Are you going to sit down too?”

 

Crowley grumbles something under his breath but does take a seat next to the angel, their shoulders brushing. 

 

They spend a delightful hour talking and eating. Laughing and drinking. Teasing and gradually winding themselves closer together until they’re both lying on their backs, Crowley’s head resting on Aziraphale’s chest whilst Aziraphale reclines on a couple of cushions he’d miracled from the sofa at the bookshop. Aziraphale is preoccupied with Crowley’s hand, holding it up in the air so he can better watch as he traces the demon’s knuckles, then the back of his hand, then his palm. Crowley’s been spinning a tale, trying to get Aziraphale to remember some long-ago adventure of theirs. Aziraphale is much more interested in cataloguing all the ways they’re touching, the ways they’re closer than they’ve ever been in more ways than one. The rain on the window is like background music. It strikes him that he’s never felt safer than he does right then and there. 

 

“Thank you, Crowley,” he interrupts the demon who sulks for all of two seconds before turning his head to meet his gaze. His sunglasses are still on. Aziraphale thinks it’s a comfort thing right now. 

 

“For what?”

 

Aziraphale tries to shrug then remembers he’s lying down with a demon lying perpendicular on him and stops trying. “For this. For waiting.”

 

“Angel,” Crowley sighs, soft and sweet, Aziraphale has a feeling that he’s blushing a little, “I would’ve waited forever for this.”

 

“That’s oddly romantic for you, my dear boy.”

 

Crowley slaps the angel’s leg with his free hand. “Piss off.”

 

Aziraphale hums and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them when he feels Crowley shifting. Sitting up and tugging his hand free. Aziraphale lets him. Trusts him. He only opens his eyes again when there’s a nose brushing the tip of his. There’s a flash of a corridor in his mind, of a much more annoyed demon and an interruption and a missed opportunity. This time, Crowley isn’t spitting in his face about not being ‘nice’. Crowley has taken care of his sunglasses himself. His arms on either side of Aziraphale’s head, his eyes locked on Aziraphale’s own. A small smile flickering on his lips. Aziraphale sighs, content, and smiles back.

 

“Hello,” he murmurs, drifting his hands up Crowley’s sides hovering above his own, only stopping to clasp his fingers and let them rest on Crowley’s back, holding him there.

 

“Hello.” Crowley repeats, voice low. 

 

“It’s a good job,” Aziraphale says, taking the leap to kiss the demon’s cheek as he slowly speaks, “that we didn’t have a picnic outside.”

 

Crowley’s eyes drift close as he leans their foreheads together. Aziraphale presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. They’ve not done this yet. There was an unmentioned expectation that they’d wait for the picnic. For this. 

 

“Why?” Crowley whispers.

 

“Because,” Aziraphale says, “I’m not sure we’d be doing this if there were people around.”

 

Crowley makes an affronted noise at this, pulling back to look Aziraphale in the eye, one hand coming up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. He leans into the touch without a conscious thought. 

 

“Angel,” Crowley says, he sounds pained and Aziraphale doesn’t now what he’s done to cause that right now, “I’ve waited six thousand years to be able to do this with you. I couldn’t care less if people were around. I wouldn’t care if all of Heaven and Hell were watching as long as you didn’t either.”

 

“Oh, Crowley…” 

 

At this point, it would do well to mention that both of them know exactly where all of this is leading up to. Not so much the act of a kiss itself, they’ve watched humans invent the practice then go through a strangely convoluted cycle of thinking their own creation is scandalous to the most natural thing in the world to wrong if you’re a certain person with another certain person. They may not have a wealth of experience with kissing, either of them, but they know pretty much everything about it. But that’s not what’s creating the weight in this moment. The tantalising energy that they’re wrapped up in like a cocoon, like the rain all around them except for this little bubble of warmth and secrets and love. No, this, to them, is all leading up to a point of no return. To a point they don’t  _ want  _ to return from. This is six thousand years in the making. This promise will be reaffirmed in a myriad of ways at least five times a day for at least another six thousand years, if either of them have a say in it. So, it’s probably best to leave them to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Beta by [Guardian_Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Thorn/pseuds/Guardian_Thorn) Thank you <3
> 
> Prompts welcome here and on my writing tumblr [WordToTheRose (Previously TheWordForest)](https://wordtotherose.tumblr.com/) or come say hi on my main [Guardian-Rose-Petal](https://guardian-rose-petal.tumblr.com/)


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